


Paint

by GilliganGoodfellow



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Cole has issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Helpful Cole (Dragon Age), Human Cole (Dragon Age), Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Medical role play, Protective Iron Bull, Tal-Vashoth The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull gets creative with body paint, Using paint to 'make pain visible'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 12:25:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19295710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GilliganGoodfellow/pseuds/GilliganGoodfellow
Summary: The newly Tal-Vashoth Iron Bull finds an emotionally exhausted Cole in the Tavern. Perhaps they can aid each other...with the help of an  old Qunari game.





	Paint

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this is an appropriate way to deal with emotional pain, I just thought it would make a good hurt/comfort story. I'm not a medical professional, but...considering my addiction to this father/son like friendship pairing, I should probably consider finding one.

The refugees have come through from some poor, unfortunate town, and many are injured or ill from the enforced journey through winter weather and towards the promise of protection at Skyhold. The healer tent is filled to the brim, a cacophony of cries, wails, moans and coughs. Nurses and healers move from patient to patient. Servants remove sweat drenched blankets, returning with fresh. The kitchens don’t stop. Soup of all flavours is ferried one way, empty bowls another.

Outside the tent, two small children sit with their parents, using pestles and mortars to break down elfroot ready to be made into poultices. They smile as they work, enjoying the chance to do ‘a grown up job’, and their mother sings. 

Inside the tent, another figure moves from bed to bed. He offers a gentle voice. A final closure forgiving mistakes, justifying actions and reassuring regrets before holding a hand as the mind stills. At another bed he hugs a newly orphaned child, letting them cry against him until they fall asleep. Another bed again, placing a cold compress against a fevered brow, and telling stories.

Afternoon becomes evening. Evening becomes night, and Mother Giselle smiles sadly as she brings a blanket over to cover the boy now curled up on his side in the corner of the tent, as good as passed out from exhaustion. His hat rests on the ground behind him.

Cole wakes a few hours later, and moves on to the next patient.

 

* * *

 

Cole steps into the tavern, feet dragging against the wooden floors. He’s not entirely sure where he is going, he is struggling to move in a straight line. He leans against the wall, his eyes closed,  and then opening as a heavy hand lands on his shoulder.

“Hey, kid.” The Iron Bull chuckles at Cole’s startled reaction. Normally after a few pints of Cabot’s best, the Qunari struggles to sneak up on a deaf person, so Cole must have been completely lost in his own world.

The smile fades as the boy turns to face him. “You alright, Cole? You look like shit.”

Cole shakes his head, looking close to panic. “Mother Giselle sent me away.” He switches to a bad impression of the reverend mother. “You’ve done enough, young spirit, go. I don’t want to see you before sunrise Wednesday.” Cole looks at The Iron Bull. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Bull shakes his head. “Nothing you did wrong, kid. Sounds like the Reverend Mother is just looking out for you.” 

“Why? I just want to help. But she stopped me.”

The Iron Bull thinks for a moment, then sighs. “Let’s grab a seat.”

They sit at one of the large tables near the entrance, and Cole immediately starts glancing over his shoulder to watch Maryden singing. After a few moments The Iron Bull chuckles, before tapping Cole on the shoulder again and indicating with a hand gesture that they swap seats, giving him a clear line of sight of the bard he is so fascinated with. 

“You thirsty kid?” Bull asks as he sits back down.

“I don’t know.”

Bull waves at one of the barmaids, and a tray with two flagons of beer is brought before them. The Iron Bull makes short work of half of his, while Cole is slower, taking sips and feeling the warmth in his throat.

“Cabot makes this stuff himself in the back room.” Bull says, raising the flagon. “Perfect after a hard day. Or any day.”

Cole takes another sip. “You want Dorian here.”

Bull shrugs, used by now to Cole’s unique ability to steer the subject down a random direction. “He’s hiding somewhere in the keep with Cullen. Probably on their fourth chess game by now.”

“You like chess?”

“Yeah. But I’m not in a social mood.” Bull says. “Besides, Dorian’s not left my side since the whole Tal-Vashoth thing. He deserves an evening to himself.” He smiles. “YOU could join them, maybe. No offence Cole, but you look like you could use a bit of fun.”

“I’m not very good at chess.” Cole says, quietly. “Rhys said it was because I think in the now, instead of the soon. But how can you know someone’s move before they make it?”

“Well, that’s where the strategy comes in.” Bull takes another gulp from his flagon. “I could teach you, if you want.”

“Yes.” Cole smiles. “I like being around you, The Iron Bull.” Cole thinks of characters in Varric’s novels, and adds. “But not the way Dorian does.”

“Yeah.” Bull nods, reaching across the table to pat the back of Cole’s hand. “I like being friends with you too, kid.”

They both look out into the tavern for a moment.

“Dorian turned down Cullen’s invitation at first. He wanted to stay with me. But I told him to go.” Bull says. “Do you know why, Cole?”

Cole shakes his head.

“Looking after people, helping them, it’s a good thing to do, noble.” Bull’s gently tilts Cole’s chin up, so he can look at his eyes under the hat. “But it can’t be all give, all the time. You keep taking water out of that bucket of yours, eventually it’s going to be dry.” Bull leans back, folding his arms on the table. “You’ve got to put yourself back. Take some time for self care.”

“You mean sleeping?”

“Sleeping. But there’s stuff you should do while your awake as well. Taking a walk. Eating a decent meal. Sitting in a hot bath.”

“Just sitting?”

“You should try it, sometime.” Bull leans forward. “You can use ours. Dorian can do this thing with his magic that makes bubbles in the water.” He raises his eyebrow. “It’s great.”

Cole looks down into his flagon, smiling, before looking back towards Maryden as she changes song. 

“Hey, talk to me kid.”

Cole looks back towards Bull. “I am talking to you.”

“I mean REALLY. You look distant, even more so than usual for you. You’ve got something on your mind?”

Cole sips his drink. 

“You know, sharing problems with your friends, letting them help and take care of you, that’s an important part of self care as well. Keeping it all bottled up inside is not a healthy attitude, Cole.”

“I can’t.” Cole curls in on himself slightly, nursing the flagon. “It’s too much.”

“What’s too much, kid?”

Cole shakes his head. “Families miss the soldiers. A letter isn’t the same as your son’s laugh, or your daughter’s kiss. And what if it’s THE letter...the commander says sorry....and she watched her brother burn. He screamed.” Cole puts his hands over his ears. “The fever itches like ants under the skin. The wound eats, sharp knives. I…” He looks up at Bull. “It can’t BE the other way around.”

Bull reaches across the table, grabbing his hand. 

“I used to be able to forget. Take in the pain and then wash myself clean. But now, now it sticks like mud.” Cole’s teeth are gritted. “And if I share that, I hurt someone else. I don’t want to make someone else hurt like this.”

“Hey. No, kid. That’s not how it works. Look at me, come on.” The Iron Bull is conscious that Maryden has stopped singing, and looks around to see several pairs of concerned eyes looking at them. He throws a reassuring smile at the patrons, he’s got this, and leans towards Cole. “Why do you think Mother Giselle sent you here?”

“She made me stop.” Cole sounds angry.

“She could see that it was getting to you.” Bull says, gently. “You’re taking all that pain inside and keeping it there. You don’t let it back out soon, kid, you’re going to have a breakdown. And then it won’t matter if you want to help people or not, you won’t be ABLE to.”

“No.” Cole panics.

Bull hates himself for that. He hates using Cole’s own kindness against him, knowing for a fact that the boy won’t accept aid unless he thinks that refusing it will harm others. Or make him unable to help.

He  stands, and grips Cole’s shoulder. “Go get changed into something you can sleep in, Kid, then go to my room. I’ll be waiting.” The Iron Bull moves his hand from the shoulder to the side of the boy’s face. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

Leaving his flagon on the table, Cole slowly makes his way to his room.

 

* * *

 

“Hello?” Cole says to The Iron Bull’s door. A moment later it opens, the Qunari smiling as he beckons Cole inside, unable to resist the opportunity to ruffle the hat free hair before quietly leading him to a small table in the corner.

Cole looks to the table. A bowl of water, bandages, medical salve, and a makeup brush next to what looks like a jar of red paint.

“I thought we could play a game, Cole.” The Iron Bull says as he sits down at the table. “It’s a role playing game. An old Qunari trick for when you’ve got a lot on your mind.” Bull opens the paint jar. “Usually you’d use vitaar. But strong as you are, I doubt you’d do well against Qunari poison. So Orlesian body paint it is.” 

He dips a small brush into the jar, then slowly paints a line of crimson across his arm. The fist of that arm clenches as he draws three more, crossing down the arm. 

Cole looks at him, confused, but the Qunari only smiles patiently. 

“They’re cuts, Cole.” He says. “You take all those bad thoughts, and paint them onto your flesh. Put them where your friend can see them.”

“But paint can’t be pain.”

Bull nods, and indicates a flag behind him. “What does that symbol mean?”

Cole looks. “The Inquisition.”

“Is it the Inquisition?”

“No.” Cole shakes his head. “It’s a symbol. People see the markings, but they don’t see the picture, they see the meaning.”

Bull nods.

Cole looks at the brush. “You can make the pain symbol. Real.”

“It’s already real, Cole.” The Iron Bull says. “We just make it VISIBLE. Draw it, like how that symbol draws the Inquisition. I’m showing you my pain. Now you do your part.”

The Qunari picks up a cloth, dipping it in the water before handing it to Cole.

“You've only just drawn them?” Cole asks.

Bull shakes his head. “You’re not cleaning off the paint, Cole. You’re treating my wounds.”

Cole looks confused, but The Iron Bull only gives him that same patient smile. “Role play, Cole. Imagine that you’re doing this to all that hurt I’m holding inside. All the hurt these markings symbolise.”

Cole nods, a small smile coming to his face as he slowly wipes at each individual ‘cut’ before picking up the towel and patting them dry with a tenderness that Bull find’s surprisingly calming. When that is done, The Iron Bull opens the jar of healing salve, and Cole rubs it into the wounds. 

“What do you like about The Qun, The Iron Bull?”

Bull sighs. “Well, you know Kid. It was my life, and that’s more than twice as long as you’ve been alive. It was everything I had ever known.”

“Not everything.” Cole says as he continues to apply the salve. “You know us. We’re not the Qun.”

“No. You’re not.” Bull shakes his head. “You wouldn’t do very well under the Qun, Cole.”

“Killed with blades, then body burned. Demon.”

“Yeah. Pretty much.” Bull picks up a bandage, handing it towards Cole, and the boy slowly starts to wrap it around The Iron Bull’s arm. 

“For me, I guess The Qun meant I belonged to something. I had a purpose. A path to follow, and people to walk along it with me. People say that Qunari don’t have families, but the truth is that among the Qun everyone is family. All working together towards the whole. I was never alone.”

“And now you are?”

Bull swallows, before throwing Cole a smile as he finishes tying off the bandage.

“Krem was thinking ‘horns pointing up’ and no anger. Only duty. Duty from the love of you.” Cole rubs at the bandage with his finger, a calm expression on his face. “They were willing, and you considered it, considered letting them die for the alliance, and staying with the Qun. That scares you.”

“It should.” Bull says.

“You have to think about all the moves. That’s where the strategy comes in.” Cole says, “It’s good that it scares you. It means you care. That is your duty to them.”

Bull nods.

“Asit tal-eb.” Cole says in awkward Qunlat, before switching back to common. “Everyone with a role, working as a whole. A lake. But move the water to a river, and it doesn't stop being water. You didn’t leave the Qun, you left A Qun. And you joined another. Bull’s Chargers is your Qun now, your path. Dorian and Krem walk beside you. They all do. Because you are still The Iron Bull.”

Bull swallows, forcing a shaky smile onto his face. “Thanks, Cole.”

Cole looks down at table. “I like this game.”

“Good.” He nods. “It’s your turn now, kid.”

Cole watches mutely as the Iron Bull rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, leaving both arms exposed. “Take all that pain, and show it to me. It’s okay.”

Bull sits back, waiting patiently, and Cole slowly paints a thin line across his arm, before looking at Bull as if for approval.

“Good boy.”

Then another, just as slow, drawn above it. 

Another. 

Cole draws another line. 

_ All the hurt these markings symbolise _

Another.

_ The knights drag her away. He can hear the screams. _

_ Another.  _

_ I’m all alone _ .

Cole picks up speed, his breathing becoming faster as he paints line over line over line. getting quicker. 

_ Her children cough as they walk. No Maker, please spare them. _

Frantic. He moves to the other arm. When he runs out of arm he moves up to his face and neck, he lifts up his shirt and paints across his stomach and chest. 

_ Demon _ .

He keeps going until he is shaking, covered in red and tears as The Iron Bull quietly takes the brush from him before kneeling next to the chair and wrapping his arms around the sobbing boy. Cole is barely breathing he’s crying so hard, and The Iron Bull gives him a gentle squeeze. 

“Ah, kid.” He says softly, his hand running up and down Cole’s back. He hushes him, and picks him up. 

It’s a short journey to the bed, Bull gently laying Cole down before grabbing the edge of the table and dragging it and the supplies over.

“Shhhh.” The Iron Bull sits on the edge of the bed and picks up the cloth, dipping it in the bowl before he starts to slowly clean the paint from Cole’s face. 

Cole swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, Cole?”

“She watched her mother burn. Father died to bandits. She has no one now. She just wants to be held. But she has no one but strangers.”

“Hey. She’ll be okay, kid. The Inquisition will find new guardians for her. Or she could train with the soldiers, if she’s good with a sword. She’ll have a new home, with people to look after her.”

“And hold her?”

“And hold her.” Bull nods as he carries on cleaning off the worst of the paint, keeping his touch as soft as possible as he moves down to the neck.

“Is it okay if I take this off you, kid?” He indicates the shirt. Cole nods and Bull helps him to sit up, working the shirt up over the boy’s head and then, with one quick look at the paint covered rag, dropping it on the floor. He then gets to work cleaning Cole’s stomach and chest as the boy lays back down.

Cole carries on talking, switching from pain to pain, some his own (“Vivienne is afraid of me. I don’t want to make her scared.”) and some of it borrowed (“They cut him with a knife. He screamed, but that made them laugh.”) while Bull listens, hums, and quietly reassures (“It’s good that you helped”). All the while he cleans and pats dry each ‘wound’ on the pale body. He doesn’t know how long it takes, it doesn’t matter. 

Cole falls silent as The Iron Bull opens the healing salve, applying it to the torso in a sweeping gesture that continues down each arm. He is again soft on the neck, thumb reaching up to stroke along Cole’s jaw. 

“Not on the face.” He says softly. “Don’t want this stuff going near your eyes.” He closes the lid on the salve, and dries his hands on the towel. He then rests his hand for a moment in Cole’s hair. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah.” Bull stands, taking a recently cleaned shirt of Dorian’s and helping the boy into it before laying him back on top of the blankets. Then, a smile on his face as he does so, Bull cleans the cloth in the water bowl, folds it, and applies it to Cole’s forehead as a cold compress. “There you go, kid.”

“Parent’s do that for their children, in the tents.” He points at the compress. “It makes them feel cooler. But, also cared for. Looked after.”

Bull nods. “It making YOU feel that way as well?”

Cole nods, slowly. 

“You just rest there, kid. I’m going to tidy up.” Bull drags the table back, before returning the medical supplies to their chest. As he does so, he hears Cole sniff behind him. “Hey, kid?”

“The game is over, now?”

“For tonight.” The Iron Bull returns to the bed, sitting back on the edge. “We can play it again another time, if you want.”

“The hurt is still there, but it’s more like an echo than a sound.” Cole smiles. “I will be stronger in the healing tents, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Tuesday, Cole.” The Iron Bull admonishes. “Not Wednesday. Remember what Giselle said?” He shakes his head. “No healer tents tomorrow. Instead…” He taps Cole on the nose. “...you’re going to have a long hot bath, and then you’re going to have the biggest meal that the kitchens can put together.” He smiles. “And then we’ll sit with Dorian in the library, and I’m going to teach you how to play chess.”

“Letting it out, putting myself back, so I’ll be better at helping later.”

“Exactly.” Bull says quietly. “What will help you ‘put yourself back’ right now, Cole? Ready to get some sleep?”

“Yes.” Cole looks at the door. “But can I listen to Maryden sing some more, first?”

“You’re head over heels for that girl, aren’t you?”

“My head is always above my heels. Otherwise I would be upside down.”

Bull laughs at that, a unique sound he has that he has realised is just for reacting to Cole and his ways. “Come on kid. Drinks are on me.”

"I don't mind going alone." Cole says. "You said you weren't feeling social."

Bull just smiles. "I'm fine."


End file.
